


Jason and the White Lilies

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: A little Bruce, Gen, Mentions of attempted rape, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8457739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: A great encounter with a small girl leaves Jason reeling.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catie_writes_things](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/gifts).



> St. Maria Goretti watching out for Jason is my very favorite thing. Catie is also my favorite! Posted on Tumblr on her actual birthday but always worth celebrating her life :) (this draft needs a little work but here it is)

It’s the familiarity that draws him to her, the painting of the little girl in the church. He’s not even sure why he came in here in the first place except that he can’t sleep and it’s open and quiet.

The church itself is a little familiar—the darkness, the peace, incense lingering from Mass celebrated, candles flickering by statues, stained glass windows, empty pews and marble steps leading up to the altar, the gold Tabernacle behind. An old, run-down church in a bad part of town.

His mom took him to church sometimes; mostly the elderly neighbor next door, holding his hand. 

Vague childhood memories and feelings that weren’t quite nostalgia.

Like coming home only he didn’t know where home was.

(Bruce had taken him to church a few times too. At Christmas. At Alfred’s insistence. But he was Anglican.)

(Wayne Manor wasn’t home, but it had been once.)

He tensed, hearing someone shuffle behind him, ready, but it was only a priest, white collar and all, dressed old-school in a cassock, carrying white lilies. Jason frowned at the flowers.

“Excuse me,” the priest said. Jason didn’t think he looked old enough to be a priest. “Confessions aren’t for another two hours. But I have some time to talk if you’d like?”

He looked up. The priest was smiling at him (would he be if he knew who Jason really was?) and Jason felt flustered all of the sudden, touched the gun hidden in his jacket. It didn’t make him feel any steadier.

“No, I uh–,” he gestured feebly at the painting. “Was just looking.”

“Oh.” The priest lifted the lilies. “These are for her actually. Will you be coming to see her tomorrow?”

“What?”

“St. Maria Goretti—her body will be here.”

Jason flinched at body. That was stupid. He saw bodies all the time. “Who is she?” He asked to cover.

“They call her the Tiny Saint of Great Mercy,” the priest said. He didn’t mention the flinch. “She was murdered when she was just 12.”

Jason felt himself go cold, a kind of anger burning in him, a tomb closing around him. “Murdered?” he repeated.

The priest nodded, moved to put the flowers in a vase in front of the girl. “Yes. Stabbed 14 times by her older neighbor for refusing sex with him.”

Jason looked back up at the girl, so young and serious. The cold burned through him. He touched his gun again. “So she forgave him?” Jason asked. Little Saint of Great Mercy. He could figure that out well enough.”

“Mm,” the priest said. “Before she died and–,”

“I hope they executed the fucker,” Jason said savagely.

The priest actually laughed, didn’t even mention the cussing. “You’re probably not the only one,” he agreed easily. “They didn’t execute him, but he was sentenced to prison for 30 years.”

Jason let out a huffy breath, almost a snort. “So what was even the point? Of her forgiving him. So what—he didn’t deserve it.”

“Do any of us?” The priest shot back. Then shook his head. “Anyway, that’s not even the end. Alessandro Serenelli—the murderer—he was extremely angry and violent. He blamed Maria for the entire affair. He was so aggressive he had to be isolated. And in this rage and isolation, Maria appeared to him, offering him 14 white lilies, one for each wound he left on her. A sign of her forgiveness. He was radically transformed.”

“Doesn’t change what he did,” Jason said. The cold was giving way to agitation. He pressed his hands to his sides, resisted the urge to pace.

“No,” The priest agreed. He was gazing up at the painting, looking far away. Jason didn’t even know his name. “But it did change Alessandro. And it changed many others. Her mother even forgave Alessandro—he who had taken away her daughter. And more than that—all her children. See, Maria came from a poor family. Her father had died, so while her mother worked, Maria was the caregiver. With her gone, her mother was unable to care for the other children and was forced to give them up for adoption. Alessandro stole her whole family away, but when he came to her seeking forgiveness, Maria’s mother adopted him as her own son. They attended her canonization together.”

Jason opened his mouth, ready to sneer, to cover the increased beating of his heart, to quell his anxiety, but before he could speak, the priest turned, offering him a white lily. Said, very seriously “Little Maria Goretti has been a good friend to me. I hope maybe she will be to you as well. We are all of us wounded in some way, and I hope I don’t overstep my bounds by saying I sense maybe you more so than many.

“Forgiveness doesn’t necessarily mean there won’t be justice or atonement for what was done to us. But it might mean peace in our own souls. It might mean a transformation. A ripple effect, a chain of love and growth. Of healing. It’s not easy, but it’s a choice we can all make.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” the priest added, “could I pray with you?”

Jason didn’t say anything. He took the lily, turned and left. He didn’t run, but he was close. The priest didn’t try to stop him.

**********

He came in from patrolling early that night, anxious and on-edge. Couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl. About the white lily.

(If Batman had a thing about kids, everyone knew the Red Hood did too).

He tried to sleep, but tossed and turned. Couldn’t keep his eyes closed for more than a few minutes.

There was no peace in this. No peace in forgiveness, in crimes committed. Still—the needling at his conscious. Did peace exist at all?

He threw back his sheets, flung himself out of bed. Paced his shitty apartment. Fuck it, fuck the priest and his shitty lecture, fuck the Joker and fuck mothers who betrayed their children and fuck Bruce and Batman and everyone whose moral superiority had never done anyone a lick of good.

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

And still, and still—the needling. The pacing. He reached for a gun, thinking to go out again, to find a drug dealer or a pedophile, someone he could hurt. Changed his mind, placed it back down. Paced and paced and paced. Gripped at his hair.

He stopped, suddenly, eyes falling on the lily the priest had given him. And stillness. He breathed. Drew in breath deeply, let it out slowly. Again, again. Still. Calm.

He closed his eyes, breathed in again. Opened them, decided. He picked up the lily and slipped out of the house before he could change his mind.

**********

And if Bruce was surprised to see Jason in the Cave, still in sweats and a battered tanktop, shivering a little, when Batman returned, he didn’t show it. Just tugged off his cowl and sent Robin to bed and turned to wait Jason out.

Maybe there wouldn’t be forgiveness here tonight. Maybe there wouldn’t be peace. But Jason guessed there could be a step.

And so he handed Bruce the lily, who took it, looking bemused. Said, “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be okay with what happened.”

Said, “I don’t know if I can ever stop being angry with you.”

Said, “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

Said, “But I might be ready to start trying.” 

And Bruce held the lily, like a lifeline, like it was precious and delicate. Nodded.

Maybe there could be a step.


End file.
